Scars To Prove It
by The Last Letter
Summary: Jesse thinks about who he is.


_I shake my head in disbelief, _

_at all my self-inflicted grief,_

_Had a strong right hand, _

_I wasn't afraid to use it_

Believe it or not, I was born normal. I was born into a family that loved and cared for me, who truly wanted to give me the best. When Kate got sick . . . Well, in the beginning, they tried. But it got harder for them to try, and I didn't make it very easy on them. When Anna was born, it got even more difficult, but I didn't do much to help, I probably made it worse. I pushed and I fought, thinking that if I was the bad child, they would have to see me.

They didn't. I just became that more invisible.

_My Mama preached till her face was blue, _

_but not a damn word seemed to make it through_

_I've got the scars to prove it_

When it started, the drinking, drugs, breaking the law, just being horrible, Mom picked up on it. A few comments were thrown my way, "Jesse, be good. Smoking is bad for you. You're too young to be drinking." But I didn't think she was worth listening too, after all, she didn't listen to me. I suppose I should have tried to step up a little more, be a little better. Better what, I wasn't sure. Son, brother, all around good kid, but I didn't want to fit their mold. Hell, I didn't even know if we had a mold anymore. We became the poster children for everything you didn't want to happen to your family. Complete strangers would look at me and shake their heads. I doubt they even knew my history, but I could tell they were thinking: what a waste of human life.

They were probably right. I've always been a waste of space.

_I ran on whiskey and burned like gas, _

_I went too far, I went too fast _

_I'd light a fire, _

_just to walk right through it _

_Busted bones, dreams and tears, tattoo my heart like souvenirs_

_Life is just a word till you go through it, _

_I've got the scars to prove it_

When I moved out, I felt really good. I mean, it wasn't _out_ out, just to the garage, but it was my space. I was still made to eat supper with the family, but I didn't feel like a part of the family unit. I'd never felt like I belonged, after all, I wasn't sick, I wasn't the one who could save the sick, I was just a problem, but to be this separated, not living under the same roof and feel good about it . . . It was like breathing for this first time in years. Maybe I should have felt sad, but I only felt the relief, that I didn't have to hide anything anymore.

It was all in the open.

_I lost good friends over foolish pride, _

_drank with the devil just to feel alive _

_I'd build a mountain, _

_then I'd try to move it_

A lot of people would look at me, and think I only act out to get attention from my parents, and I could understand why they would think that, but they're wrong. So completely wrong. I could honestly care less about what my parents thought. I considered that as much as they considered me - not at all. I act the way I do for a lot of reasons, because I feel alive, because, in a strange way, I feel like I'm living for both me and Kate. She won't ever be able to grow up and get drunk, or even take some drugs. Anna will, once Kate is gone, but Kate will never walk on the wild side.

So, I don't just walk on the wild side, I built a house there.

_Yeah and I thought that I was pretty tough,_

_till I was brought down by a woman's touch _

_I got the scars to prove it_

I have hardened myself to the world. I consider myself about as tough as nails. There are a lot of things I have never done, because of this. I have never fallen in love. Sure, there's time. I'm only eighteen, but I don't know if it will ever happen. After all, who would want a lost cause? I'm so lost, in fact, that I don't have a whole lot of people to count on, or to call friends. There's this homeless guy, Dan, and my drug dealer, Lou, but they can hardly be called friends, and I wouldn't dare call Lou in the middle of the night, and Dan doesn't have a phone. They are more like colleagues.

I walk alone.

_I ran on whiskey, I burned like gas,_

_I went too far, I went too fast _

_I'd light a fire, just to walk right through it _

_Busted bones, dreams and tears, tattoo my heart like souvenirs _

_Love is just a word till you go through it,_

_I've got the scars to prove it_

I think that I purposely make things hard on myself and others. I challenge myself, and them. I think that I'm trying to get someone to take things too far, because there's nothing for me here. I'm better off dead. Sure, I'll probably end up in Hell, but that's okay with me. Kate will go to Heaven, and so will Anna, for being her donor, for keeping Kate alive for as long as she has. Mom and Dad will go, for drawing the short end of the stick, for hoping, going through the day. Maybe by this logic, I should go to Heaven too, but I won't. Like I said before, I could have been the good kid, helped out, but I didn't.

And that makes all the difference.

_Now and then regrets may find me, _

_but these marks are here to remind me _

_Of where I went wrong, what made me strong, _

_and how I've moved on_

Regrets? Sure, I have some, but why mourn past decisions? They're in the past, let them stay there. After all, history is boring. You just have to remember to never do it again, and move on. I'm not a quick learner though, or maybe I just have no common sense, because I tend to make the same mistake again and again. I drink too much, even though I know how my head hurts in the morning. I keep taking more from Lou then I can afford to pay him, then end up stealing money from Mom's purse when the main house is quiet, but someday I'll learn.

I hope.

_I ran on whiskey, I burned like gas,_

_I went too far, I went too fast_

_I'd light a fire, just to walk right through it _

_Busted bones, dreams and tears, tattoo my heart like souvenirs _

_Love is just a word till you go through it _

_I've got the scars to prove it_

Sometimes I'll look down at my arms, scarred by needles, and wonder: when I die, will the coroner see just another druggie? There are many layers to Jesse Fitzgerald, more scars than what you can see. No one can look at me and see that I cried, for a long time, about my sister. Because losing Kate was inevitable, and sometimes it would just hit me, like a tidal wave. People won't be able to know that I look at my parents worn down faces, and truly feel sorry for them. And sometimes I look at me, and feel sorry for me. It's not necessarily logical, but it's true. Sometimes I think that I should be better than this, and I remind myself, this is who I am, and people don't change.

It's just not possible.

**I don't own My Sister's Keeper or the song I've Got The Scars To Prove It by the Road Hammers.**


End file.
